Pieces of His Shell
by AmberPalette
Summary: PostTRY. Valgaav is reborn as Valteira. Filia's experience of his hatching, and Xelloss's surprising reaction. Meant to imply the early stages of a romance between Xelloss and Filia. Don't flame canon.


Disclaimer: All characters, settings, and situations pertaining to the anime and manga "The Slayers" is the property of Hajime Kanzaka and Rui Araizumi. This is not one of my more ponderous fanfictions. I wrote it in a three hour sitting because I have too many friends who appreciate mushy situations involving canon romantic pairings, as well as babies. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Lol. 

This fanfic-let ships the CANON romantic pairing of Xellos Metallium and Filia Ul Copt from "The Slayers TRY." It also ships the CANON mother-son pairing of Filia Ul Copt and Valteira, formerly Valgaav. I will not apologize for my preferences, which are formed upon meticulous character analysis and upon remarks during official interviews made by Mr. Kanzaka himself. Either be courteous that I honor the intentions of the ORIGINAL CREATOR of "The Slayers," or leave well enough alone.

Thank you. Enjoy.  
The day that Filia Ul Copt's world changed completely and irrevocably involved baggy overalls, a full kiln, and a crisp autumn rain.  
The long-legged dragoness loped from her workroom. She stretched her big-boned, limber figure, seized by the sort of exhaustion that can only be gained from an exquisitely productive afternoon. She fingered her waterfall of hair, the glossy hue of liquid sunlight, over her milky pink shoulder as she moved.   
She was adjusting a shoulder strap of said stained overalls—her clothing of custom when she threw clay on the wheel—when the fall wind blew with particular gusto. Neither so unforgiving as a winter wind nor so carefree as a spring breeze, it flung open the shutters above the wicker incubator in which the egg of the reborn ancient dragon Valteira reposed.  
It brought with it a chill and an anticipation.  
Filia's slender, pointed ears flicked in the direction of the sound. She shed her feminine finesse and clambered barefoot into the storage room where those shutters banged with jittery liberation. "I'm sorry, Val," she murmured soothingly to the glowing orb in the middle of the basket. She was somehow convinced that the unhatched child could hear her. "Mommy's here now."  
The frail reptilian shape curled up inside it stirred. A gelatinous goo, not unlike that of a fish's egg, surrounded the innermost membrane of the hard yet transparent outer layer of the infant's shell. The shell seemed go glow sharply brighter for a fraction of a second, as the baby shifted positions and opened its eyes.  
Filia gasped.   
Val was looking right at her through his shell.  
So it was time, at last.  
He blinked huge, clear, unclouded gold eyes at her.   
It was like recognition. There was no other way to describe it. Instant recognition, and trust.   
He let out an imploring squeal. A cry for assistance. He reached up a tiny claw and tapped the inside of his shell.  
Filia's eyes were moist. She placed her palm on the outside of the shell, in the same location where the infant Val touched his paw.   
And then Val started to change over.  
Talons became tubby, fragile fingers. The long, swanline scaled neck became thin and fleshed. The torso shrank and rounded. The tail vanished. And the face became that of a sweet and helpless cherub.   
Two incredibly small hands pressed against the shell, decisively now.  
"I've been waiting for you," Filia whispered, encouraging him. "Come out now. It's all going to be fine." She sniffled, feeling that the sound of mucus clogging her nose rather destroyed the ardor of the moment. But mostly, she didn't care.  
The infant Val closed his eyes again. He curled into a tighter ball and then emphatically extended all four chubby limbs.   
The shell fractured, and then shattered. A tufty humanoid head shakily lifted out from among the cracks and pieces of the eggshell, which now turned a hard, polished color, like hematite.   
Filia lifted Val out of his cradle and placed him against her chest. There was no crying, no struggling, no strain in their bond—he seemed to know he belonged to her, and that this was right. The feeling of the small and perfect life against her skin was piercing—both joyful and tragic, somehow, at once…so keen as to be almost unbearable. So wonderful and yet so ponderous. This was motherhood.  
"For everything my race did to yours," she crooned in his tiny pointed ear, "for all the time I have left to live, I will atone, and I will be yours, forever, Valteira. We will start over today."  
Val bleated and nestled closer.  
Filia was not sure how much time passed after that moment. She knew that the shadows had changed just slightly when she looked up, with streaming eyes, from the newborn, and realized that she had not prepared his swaddlings, or his bottle.  
That was when she heard a noise behind her.  
The bold, easy gait of one who feels entitled to a space, whether it is a matter of trespassing or not, sounded on the slippery wooden floorboards.  
The familiar nasal drawl was like a distant echo. Filia wasn't sure why she hadn't felt the intense surge of both rage and elation that HIS presence always brought.   
"…and I said to her, 'Listen, Riksfalto, chocolate has to be the most inconvenient human invention for one of my race,' " the man was breezily complaining. The measured breaths he took during his delivery hinted at a tendency towards long-windedness.  
He stood perhaps three inches taller than the dragoness. He was a breathtaking creature—the kind that lures you into dangerous security by its sheer beauty. He was slender but firm of build, like a dancer, with proportions that would shame Polykleitos. His attire was a jet, crimson, gold, and cream hodge podge of Greek, Egyptian, and European priest's robes. It mingled comical and ominous in a way that only made him more bewildering to the viewer. His skin was unblemished and just slightly sun-kissed, his face a perfectly symmetrical oval with enormous, craftily-slanted, long-lashed eyes. His hair, pageboy-styled and a dark silky violet, was cut to emphasize the hypnotic force of those eyes. His bangs were trimmed straight at a level between his lids and eyebrows, framing the perfection of his features. His motions were both graceful and menacing.   
This was Filia's lover and rival, the person with whom she gave a new definition to "potent chemistry": an immensely powerful mazoku named Xellos Metallium.  
"I mean, can I hear an 'amen?' After all, the damned stuff is like an endorphin factory…Filia?"   
His voice dipped and then sharply rose, his insatiable curiosity piqued. It was a strange thing, Xellos's inquisitiveness—perhaps the sole innocent, childlike thing about him, embedded in a never-ending stream of seasoned vices. Despite his opportunism, he never seemed to realize that it was his most potently endearing facet.   
"It's been five seconds, Filia, and you've barraged me with nary a lecture nor even a scornful word. What's caught your….ahh."  
He paused mid-glide towards the dragoness. His hands, intent on yanking her coiled tail, sank to his sides. One clutched a gnarled wooden staff meant for a hermit priest but worn, by Xellos, like a Victorian gentleman's walking stick. He balked there, torn between fascination and careful impassivity.   
Perhaps he already felt the dangerous bonds he had been forming, of late, with the visceral priestess—the gravity, the allure, of her presence, for his flighty and erratic soul.  
Filia certainly felt it, though she did not recognize the feeling at first. "He just hatched," she breathed. Her cornflower eyes lifted and searched his.  
Startled faceted amethysts, curled around cat-slit irises, blinked back. Then, almost imperceptibly, they softened. A close-lipped archaic smile, befitting a statue of an ancient Greek boy-god, followed suit. It lacked the sinister edge that ordinarily made Xellos, to put it colloquially, ten shades of creepy.  
And Filia wasn't sure why, but no one felt more appropriate to share this long-anticipated moment with than Xellos.  
Perhaps it was a convoluted way of ultimate revenge upon the monster race whom he served—a fanfare of the next enduring generation of never-quite-extinct dragons. Perhaps it was because Xellos and Filia had been through so many ordeals together, both as nemeses and as allies, that his presence was comforting consistency.   
More plausibly, it was because Xellos was the only person in Filia's circle of acquaintances who immediately and comprehensively grasped all things poignant, crucial, fascinating, and profound. He treated the first burning amber veins of the first autumn leaf with the same degree of fixated, scholarly wonder as he did the turning point of the climactic Darkstar Battle. For Filia, who craved a genuinely attentive audience to her outbursts of conviction, however ludicrous those outbursts might be in hindsight, Xellos was a perfect companion.  
And there was nothing that could be more awe-inspiring than the rebirth of a depraved mazoku-dragon hybrid as a fresh new soul.  
The ensuing silence had been long and oddly tender, before Xellos pierced it, clearing his throat.  
"His hair is still sort of green," he commented. His face was now the epitome of bland. But his whole body leaned towards the mother and hatchling almost magnetically. He managed a shoddy façade of aloofness by looking down his nose at them both, head cocked to one side. As his were flawless features, his nose was not quite long enough to pull this off without looking a little drunk.  
Filia giggled softly, nestling the naked infant between her breasts. "Yes, everything appears the same…"  
"Except that which is most significant," Xellos cut in. He seemed strangely enlivened by Filia's laughter. One side of his full, serpentine lip curled higher at each little bleat of mirth.  
"Yes. Yes, exactly."  
"You are happy, then."  
"Yes…" Filia's eyes slanted. "And it doesn't seem to be bothering you, that aura of happiness…"  
Xellos did not answer, but instead, with the exaggerated slowness of one trying to coax a frightened beast away from bolting, reached for the infant.  
Filia wrenched Val out of reach at once. "No."  
Xellos ducked his head and knowingly smiled. His eyes were uncharacteristically distant. "I won't hurt him."   
She opened her mouth to protest.  
"I could give you the real reasons why not," he curtly added, silencing whatever withering retort she had prepared, "but you might not believe the heart of a demon just yet…so believe me for this reason—my mistress has no need of a dragon hatchling, and I only ever commit my particularly, ah, 'reprehensible' acts, on orders. Val is harmless, and therefore in no need of harm…"  
"You're a monster," Filia hissed, though her chest hurt at the stinging words that she was forced to utter. "I don't want you tainting him."  
Xellos's jaw snapped shut. It sounded like a steel trap. He covered his bared white fangs with thinly-stretched lips. His pale, impassive face turned three shades of red before returning to its natural olive hue. Cold fury momentarily paralyzed him.  
Then, with a measured breath, he pirouetted around Filia's open rudeness. He peeled the topic back open from another angle. "He is so small. I was just…strangely moved by it. The omnipotent…finds the frail so fascinating. In a precious way. May I at least touch him, Filia? His smallness haunts me. I want to hold him and know what such incomprehensible fragility is like…and why it matters so much to protect it."  
Filia was swaddling Val in clean white rags. She glared at Xellos—a pensive glare. "Are you some kind of masochist? Surely you feel my love for my son from miles away. Isn't it draining you from the astral side?"  
"It does not bother me," he replied simply. He prowled in a circle around the Madonna and child, and then, inexplicably, sat in one of Filia's rickety kitchen chairs. The movement upset a cloud of kaolin dust, and Xellos laughed to himself at that, and said no more.   
Filia watched him for a long moment. Her cheeks felt flushed. She had never known Xellos to back off on something, no matter how apparently trivial, when an agenda festered behind it. That he was merely relinquishing this battle and biding his time convinced her more than any mushy, maudlin speech might have.  
Of course, with Xellos, the master forger of truths and realities, this unexpected reticence may have been a deliberate farce all of its own.  
Damn him.  
So Filia did in return what she hoped Xellos would least expect: She complied. Without ceremony, she plopped the newborn Val right in Xellos's slack, lounging lap.  
"There's your fragility," she coeed. Deadly undertones rang through the sweetness for his ears alone. "Brood away at it, but hurt him, and I swear I will find a way to kill you."  
Her long honeysuckle-scented gold hair licked the monster's cheek as she bent over him.   
Once again, Xellos seemed impermeable to the usual baits and threats. He placed both hands on each side of Val's tiny face: A paper-thin shard of glass would have been safe in the grasp of that delicate, gentle touch, with long musician's fingers.   
Their eyes met, and Val squinted. The baby gurgled as though with the same recognition he had expressed towards Filia, and reached. Xellos offered the newborn his finger.  
"Could I have a piece of his shell as well?"  
This incongruous question threw Filia into logical vertigo anew.   
"What?"  
There was a peculiar aching, a tautness of the skin around the infamous dragon-killer's eyes when he looked up from Val to the hatchling's adoptive mother. "I mean it. You can't begin to know what I sense this very moment. An agent of Nothingness faced with the paradox of a weak infant, its skin like paper, its little hands—somehow the most powerful denial of Nothingness in that same instant. I want a memento of this—my most formidable opponent, and yet what disturbs me most, Filia, is that not a cell of my being wants to destroy him. Quite the contrary."  
"…Are you saying what I think you're saying?"  
"Honestly? I'm not sure I even know."  
"Xellos…"  
"Do you suppose the Beastmaster sees me this way?" Xellos cocked an eyebrow, perversely amused. "And if so, doesn't it make a great deal of the principles of Chaos and Nothingness a sham?" He lulled back his head and laughed. "How droll."  
Filia wasn't sure what to say. So she settled for, "You are maddening."  
"I aim to please," he quipped, with a wink.  
"You may have a piece of Val's shell."  
"Thank you."  
"…I'm afraid, Xellos."  
"Of what?"  
"Of him remembering…things…of him not having his second chance. Of his hopes being destroyed again."  
"From the moment we are born, these fears are, to some extent, always valid. It is, apparently, the role of a parent to carry these fears for our children's happiness to the grave. But in my limited experience, Filia, having a parent as devoted, and as skilled, as you are, is an immeasurable asset to a child."  
Filia sharply dodged her gaze to the fire. Her lip trembled just slightly. "Thank you, Xellos."  
Then Val began to cry—a sweet, whimpering sort of crying, nothing like the shrill squawk of most newborns. A heartbreaking sound.  
The Lesser Beast, the conqueror of thousands of demons, gods, dragons, and humans, froze in horror. "Make it stop," he cringed. "How do I make it stop?" Then, as a viscous trail of drool puddled on his cream tunic, he added, "It's leaking."  
Filia's lip quirked oddly in an ever-more-difficult effort at restraining laughter at Xellos's expense. "Give HIM back," she commanded, taking Val carefully from Xellos.  
The mazoku, who appeared a bit clammy, had actually been holding the child with surprising caution and expertise, cupping the tiny aqua-tufted head in his hand.  
"I did something wrong." This appeared to disturb him deeply.  
It was, vaguely, quite cute.  
Filia checked herself on a wave of fondness and pity directed towards the demon. "He's just hungry," she crooned, placing the infant in his cradle.  
"He smells funny."  
"Yes, well, that's Essence of Dirty Diaper, Xellos."  
"Eugh. But actually, I meant a sweeter smell. Kind of…soft."  
She smiled at him. Something in her finally relinquished to the warm and fluttering sensation in her stomach—yielded to believing in his guilelessness, just this once. "You change his diaper while I warm his milk."  
"No, thanks."  
"It'll make you feel better," she purred.  
Xellos stared at her. "Are you insane?"  
"I MEAN," Filia assumed overly patient tones, practicing the deep breathing that would do any doula proud, "that it will make you feel you did something RIGHT by him to combat the ERROR."  
"I thought you said that the crying wasn't my fault." But those piercing, ancient eyes were already fixed on the pile of white, clean diaper linens in a basket in the corner. "…Fine."  
"Then I'll let you feed him."  
Xellos balked again. "No. You should be the first to feed him. He is your whole world."  
"But there is a vacancy for more people in my world. Important people. People I want to share him with." Filia had no idea why she said it. At once, her Nordic cheeks went ruddy.  
Bizarrely, Xellos did not exploit her embarrassment. "I see." And this was all he said, smiling at her again, in that archaic, mysterious way. "Then maybe I'll hold him, for a minute at the end."   
"You could burp him."  
"Spectacular." His wan smile became smugly cynical. "I get to dispose of his crap and burp him."  
"May I introduce you, then, Mighty Lesser Beast, to fatherhood," Filia said, around grinning fangs of her own.  
She rather relished the look of barely restrained horror on her lover's face.   
But Xellos was not to be outdone, and he retorted after only a moment's shock, "I welcome the challenge."  
So Filia, who was elated to hear this for some weird reason, took Val's glass bottle and poured some milk into a pan over the fire. She stepped aside and let Xellos take over Val once more.  
The bottle and burping came before either of them expected it.  
Xellos took Val over his shoulder, face contemplative. The hand that had slain thousands now tenderly patted the infant's tiny back in a slow rhythm.   
Val snuggled instinctively towards warmth. He cooed appreciatively and nestled his tiny cheek against that of the demon.   
Two very different life forces met, touched, reckoned with each other.  
And Xellos froze, sucking in the smallest of gasps. The strangest look came over his face. His lips moved. It looked like "wow."  
Filia could never in a million years describe that expression. It encompassed surprise, release, wonder, amusement, and something more that could not be pegged. And, aside his hand, which resumed the patting of Val's little back, he didn't budge.  
"I've not seen, or known, everything, it appears." Xellos breathed. "Fascinating. I shall have to file this one away for later." His eyes were so incredibly soft.   
Never in her wildest dreams could Filia have hoped to see such an expression on Xellos. And yet there it was.  
He caught her gawking at him. His face quickly corrected itself with blandness. But Filia snuck a peek at one of his ears, where he had mistakenly tucked his violet hair out of his eyes. It was bright pink. "What?" he mumbled. "Good heavens. Staring is rude, Filia."  
Years later, when the three of them had become an undividable family, at dinner parties and pow wows and other functions where they gathered with friends over drinks…Filia swore that this was the precise moment she realized she loved Xellos. The EXACT moment.  
Not just a crush, not just an infatuation with shocking him into submitting to her feminine wiles. No. Real, core-deep, in-it-for-eternity love.   
"I'll take him," she said.  
Xellos stalled. "No…he's not done yet…."  
Val burped—a tiny yelp of a noise. His little limbs went slack in relief against Xellos's slim, iron arm.   
Xellos looked crestfallen. Once again Filia was reminded of how terribly adorable he could be, particularly when he wasn't trying. "Okay, he's all yours."   
"You're keeping a part of the shell, remember?" She took her baby from the monster. "Parting is not going to be such acutely sweet sorrow."  
"I want more than just a chunk of his stupid shell," he snapped, drawing himself up indignantly, and laying his intentions bare. "That's what this is about, okay? All obtuseness down the drain. You're an extraordinary mother, and I want to be in on it, you she-devil. I want to be your counterpart and know what that's like. It's new to me, and it's fascinating, and hells if I know why. But I want it."  
But Filia won this last round. She placed her hand on Xellos's cheek, the cheek that Val's newborn face had brushed, stunning him into watchful stillness.  
Walls crumbled and a deal was sealed:  
"I know you do," she said. "I know. I believe you."  
Val wriggled in her arms. He reached blindly for his delegated Burper.  
Slowly, Xellos smiled, recognizing his small victory. He put a hand on top of Filia's, keeping hers in place against his cheek. He reached another index finger to Val, who began to lovingly gnaw.  
"I think he likes me," Xellos chirped.  
"I think he likes THIS," Filia replied, gesturing at the three of them gathered by the fire.  
"I guess we'd better humor him, then."  
"I guess so."   
"…Bitch. You've snared me."  
"Bastard. You want to be caught."  
"Yeah. I'm crazy about you, you deranged pink-o-phile."  
"And I adore you, you raw-garbage sociopath. Kiss me."  
"Glad to."  
A pause.  
"I win," Filia sang.  
"Yeah, yeah. You tell yourself that."   
A promise exchanged.  
A new life rising and moving forward.   
Life carries on.


End file.
